


A Novel Mistake

by chucks_prophet



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Library, Awkward Crush, Awkward Sam Winchester, Demisexual Sam, Embarrassment, Fluff, Gym Teacher Dean, Idiots in Love, Librarian Sam, Lucifer is a Little Shit, M/M, Shy Castiel, Shy Sam, Teacher Castiel, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-14
Updated: 2015-10-14
Packaged: 2018-04-26 08:15:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4997386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chucks_prophet/pseuds/chucks_prophet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas is an English teacher at Fergus Elementary. He has eyes bluer than Melville's ocean and a dark brown shock, elongated and messy like Kerouac's sentences. He always has a pensive, wistful look about him, like Poe in the midst of writing "Annabelle Lee". And though he's in love with a man named Kurt Vonnegut, his heart is coerced by a thieving pirate named Roald Dahl.</p><p>Sam doesn’t know all this by, say, actually talking to him. All of these facts are based on simple observations, something that’s second nature as a librarian. Again, Cas was elusive for a reason; the same reason that Sam prefers literary adventures over real ones. </p><p>Or the one where Sam and Cas are both oblivious that they're head over heels for one another.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Novel Mistake

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired in part by the blue sweater Jared wore to TorCon'15 because if that doesn't scream hot librarian, I don't know what does.

Sam doesn’t know how he developed a crush on Mr. Novak, i. e. the most elusive guy on the face of the planet.

It's not like it's Castiel's fault. He is, after all, _Mr._ Novak—that title didn't come without a little work. Cas is an English teacher at Fergus Elementary. He has eyes bluer than Melville's ocean and a dark brown shock, elongated and messy like Kerouac's sentences. He always has a pensive, wistful look about him, like Poe in the midst of writing "Annabelle Lee". And though he's in love with a man named Kurt Vonnegut, his heart is coerced by a pirate named Roald Dahl.

Sam doesn’t know all this by, say, actually talking to him. All of these facts are based on simple observations, something that’s second nature as a librarian. Again, Cas was elusive for a reason; the same reason that Sam prefers literary adventures over real ones. The thought of actually conversing with the guy found him with his nose buried in whatever he was reading that week. He once read Leo Tolstoy's _War and Peace_ in just under a week because Cas had migrated to the nonfiction section where Sam worked.

Okay, so maybe hewas the one being elusive here. But it was under good pretenses. Cas would have talked to him by now if he wanted to, right? _At least_ acknowledged his services instead of venturing across the library to ask Henry in the science fiction section where Weisman’s _The World Without Us_ was. Anyone who had common knowledge about literature knew that book was in his section.

“You’re being a coward, Sammy. I don’t raise cowards.”

“Really, Dean? Are you positive you want to go down that road when you still haven’t told Benny you love him after…remind me, how many months has it been again?”

“At least I’m man enough to _talk_ to him, for Christ Sakes.”

Sam heaved a drained sigh. _That’s because you don’t picture him as Mr. Darcy when you read_ Pride and Prejudice, he wanted to say, but due to unfortunate circumstances, his brother was right. Dean was the boy’s gym teacher at Fergus, which gave him pretty much any day of the week to talk to Cas, who, “sorry, Sammy, [he] hasn’t mentioned you”. He shouldn’t be surprised. At this rate, Cas is more likely to fall in love with a fictional character if he isn’t already taken. Sam was the ogre in this story. Castiel was Prince Charming.

Sam was currently sifting through archive after archive, trying to make sense of things. He’s always amazed at how the library breaths some of the most intelligent people who are, concurrently, some of the most careless folks out there. It was almost ironic. Part of the reason people read nonfiction is to be more aware of their surroundings; meanwhile, books get littered around the library like gum wrappers or empty soda cans.

He managed to preoccupy himself with the task at hand when someone behind him calls, “Excuse me?”

“Yeah, how can I—?” Sam swiveled around only to be swept into Melville’s ocean. It’s a good thing he doesn’t need the sliding ladder or he’d be a goner. “Uh, hi, yes, how can assist be I?” _Goddamn it._ Now he’s speaking Yodaisms, he might as well be a goner. He laughed to dispel the tension. “How assist… be how can…”

“I, uh, I’ll just ask someone else,” Cas replied tersely. Exit scene Charming.

Sam knocked his head against the book shelf repeatedly, guaranteeing himself a concussion so he wouldn’t have to go into work tomorrow.

***

The next time Sam sees Cas, the teacher looks laden with what can only be described as exhaustion.

If his father was still kicking, he would tell him to take pity on the old. John had to put up with Sam when he was nine or ten—around the same age of the children Cas worked with year round. (At least according to Dean, who’s coaching his now ex-stepson.) Not only is that the age when overactive imaginations run free; it's the age when children start to develop their temperaments. Couple that with eighty-some odd book reports on which crime Nancy Drew solved that week, and it made for an interesting work week, to say the least.

He seems to find what he’s looking for pretty easily, so Sam decides not to approach him (like that was ever an option anyway). Cas follows his example, going straight to the checkout station. _Henry’s_ checkout station.

Sam, the ogre, retreats back to his cave where he belongs.

***

The library is busy the following week, bustling with students and instructors alike. It’s nearing the end of November, which, to Mother Nature, means a change in scenery. To the working class, it’s dissertation season.

Students are crammed in the reference room, filling the stale, untenanted air with everything from talk on capitalism to homecoming mishaps while teachers are slowly but surely losing more than just their minds trying to get last month’s assignments graded. Sam has always watched the scene pan out with an amused smirk. It’s more or less like watching a live-action version of Orwell’s _Animal Farm_ , minus the antisemitism.

He gets hit on by a college boy with big, blue eyes demarcated by a thin layer of eyeliner and bedraggled dirty blonde hair—not to mention an athlete’s body underneath a tarnished leather jacket and denim jeans. It’s not exactly his type, considering he is, after all, a man of academic standards, but Sam’s not complaining; especially if it takes his mind off other people with the too-blue eyes of T.J. Eckleburg.

Sam finds out that Nick (yes, they established a first-name basis, _hush_ ) is on the search for a textbook that, according to his syllabus, he should’ve rented ages ago as part of his Rock Music and Culture course. Nick looked almost apologetic, but Sam’s used to it. Between assisting undergraduates and helping his brother—his brother, who is four whole years older than him, mind you—stay on track, he’s used to procrastination. Besides, it was his job to help people, no matter how big or small the fuck-up.

Once he gets Nick checked out and Nick, well, checks _him_ out one last time, he goes back to sorting. Nostalgia washes over him like the calm after a storm when he brushes his fingers against Amelia Richardson’s memoir, _A Spit-Slick Hello: My Life in Dog Years._ He smiles. If he remembers correctly, there’s a section dedicated to her sweet serendipity with Sam and Riot. It’s the closest to fame Sam’s ever going to get, and in all fairness, Amelia was a talented writer. Sam may have loved books, but he was nowhere near becoming the next Shakespeare of his time. Maybe in the fan-fiction world.

Sam shelved the book just as someone came to stand beside him. Sam glanced over to find none other than Castiel Novak. He had a finger to his chin, squinting like he does when he’s in deep concentration (no, Dean, not stalking, _concerned_ ) at the top shelf. Sam flicked his hazel eyes between the section in question and Cas, this time actually managing a sentence as he asked, “Can I help you, Ca—sir?” he quickly amended.

Cas startled him into next week when he replied, “Yeah, it’s Sam, right?”

“Oh, um… yeah, uh, how do you—?”

“I’ve seen you around the library,” Cas explained. “It’s kind of hard to miss Prince Charming in his castle.”

Sam flushed from head to toe. Cas thought _him_ to be the handsome hero of this tale? He said it so naturally too, like the words were ancient prophecy. He ducked his head, laughing giddily. “I guess, I mean I’m not exactly a romantic. I just help people find books.”

“Don’t be so modest. Being a librarian is a noble profession,” Cas said matter-of-factly. “You’re not just helping people find books; you’re imparting people with the power of knowledge.”

Sam hummed in thought. “I never thought of it like that. Thanks, Castiel.” He scrunched his face in humiliation. “Sorry, my, uh, my brother works at Fergus Elementary. Coach Winchester. Smartass, yay high.” Cas laughed, a deep and rich sound, and Sam felt every butterfly in his stomach beat its wings against his burning insides.

“I’m familiar with your brother. He’s rather aggressive with the whistle. And please, call me Cas.”

“Yeah, he’s quite the character alright,” Sam agreed, turning his attention back to the shelf. “Oh, you needed help?”

Cas cleared his throat. “Right, yes, I’m looking Amelia Richardson’s books, one of them is _My Life—”_

“ _In Dog Years_ ,” Sam finished, raising his arm to pluck the book from the top shelf. He held it out to Cas, who only gave him in return a disconcerted look while Sam found the rest of her titles.

“I gather you’re familiar with Dr. Richardson?”

“I would hope so; I dated her for nine months.” Cas’s mouth formed a small ‘o’ before his eyebrows relaxed. Sam went on to ask, “So you’re an animal lover too?”

“More than humans sometimes, I’m afraid,” Cas confessed, to which Sam chuckled as he pushed a wayward strand of hair out of his field of vision. “Dogs, cats, birds, guinea pigs… I own all of them. I’m practically suited to be Old McDonald at this point.” Sam was about to rejoin with something equally as witty when he saw Nick passing by him, only he wasn’t alone. He was having an intellectual conversation (read: flirting cloyingly) with Adam, a student intern who was far from legal. “ _Ow!”_

Sam was jolted back to reality by the sound of Cas’s cry, and he realized he’d dropped the three books Amelia had written—which, needless to say, wasn’t exactly light—on his feet. Mortified, Sam scrambled to pick them up. For a whole moment, he couldn’t even speak, let alone _look_ at Cas. If only Dean could see “the Sammy he raised” now. “I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to, it’s just—”

“Hey, that’s my brother Nick.”

Sam gaped at him, though Cas couldn’t see turned the other direction. “It’s not what you think... I—he, we talked, but he was the one that—”

“Sam, hey, it’s okay,” Cas reassured, whipping his head back to Sam. “I know Nick. He hits on anything with opposable thumbs. Don’t get discouraged, and certainly don’t be embarrassed.”

“Sorry, it’s just…” Sam licked his lips, steeling himself for what he was about to ask of Cas. “Can I confess something to you?”

Cas nodded encouragingly. “Anything.”

“When I was talking to him, truth is, I doing it to try to take my mind off you,” he admitted, pausing to let that sink in. “I see you every other day with your reading glasses while you grade assignments or check out textbooks and I don’t know—I’m not being a stalker, I swear, it’s just, you always look so sad and stressed and you’re really handsome, so it’s really not fair, I just wanted to talk to you for one second, make you smile, even if it’s only one conversation.”

Whatever Sam had said—honestly, he blacked out halfway through what he thought was a telling speech—had caused the corners of Castiel’s unbending lips to turn up, revealing dentist-white teeth and flush gums. “I’d say you succeeded,” he replied shyly, clutching the books Sam handed back to him closer to his chest. “Tell you what, you can tell me more about your non-stalker-ish tendencies over lunch tomorrow.”


End file.
